


Dancing with a Stranger II

by PlzdontcallmeVal (vlh114)



Category: Being Human UK, Britchell - Fandom, Mitchers - Fandom, The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 22:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19964284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlh114/pseuds/PlzdontcallmeVal
Summary: A different version of the Dancing with a Stranger idea.  This time with Anders and Mitchell.





	Dancing with a Stranger II

**Author's Note:**

> There are 2 different endings to this story included below.

The bass thumped through the speakers in time to the rhythm of Anders’s heart. He could feel it pounding from the souls of his feet to the top of his head. He’d been at the club long enough for the alcohol and pills to make him brave enough to stalk the dance floor. He was looking for someone. He didn’t know exactly who, but he’d know when he saw them.

*

The music was a release, an escape from the worries of living and hiding who he was from the world. In the club Mitchell could relax into the beat, let himself go for a short time. He drank just enough to be able to hang on. If he lost control the club’s patrons would find out very quickly that they had a killer in their midst. The vampire didn’t care who he danced with or if he danced alone. The movement was all that mattered.

*

Just watching the anonymous bodies on the dance floor mesmerized Anders. So far, they were all sweaty, faceless, swaying creatures. But soon they would pull him in and drown him. It’s what he was hoping for. 

*

The music never stopped but it would fade, slowing the dancers down, before it would build up to make them come undone again. There was nothing in the world like it, or at least Mitchell told himself it did not compare to the crash he got after the thrill of feeding long enough to feel the life drain out of his victim.

*

At the center of the swirling mass of faceless humanity Anders finally saw what he wanted. A tall, wild-haired brunet was dancing with everyone and no one in particular. He fought his way through the crowd until he was behind his target.

*

At first Mitchell thought the person had bumped him accidentally. It happened all the time on a crowded dance floor. But then there were hands on his hips squeezing, trying to change his rhythm. Resistance came naturally but the hands didn’t stop their pressure. Gradually Mitchell let them guide him to turn around.

*

The brunet’s eyes were closed when he turned around. That would not do for Anders. He squeezed harder; feeling the other man’s hipbones through the jeans he wore, to slow him down. _Look at me_.

*

Before he could come to a complete stop Mitchell opened his eyes, tilted his head, not talking but questioning with his eyes, _what are you doing_?

*

Anders used his grip on the taller man’s hips to pull him closer. He expected more resistance, but the man moved easily. Soon there were hands on his hips as the brunet started up the pace again. Anders had no choice but to go along.

*

As the music started to fade the swaying of the two men slowed with it. When the beat got faster their swaying turned to gyrating. The kiss was as natural as breathing for Anders.

ENDING 1:

But it was not what Mitchell was looking for. His hands fell from the shorter man’s body as he backed away. Anders didn’t try to force the stranger to stay with him, he just watched the brunet get swallowed up by the crowd before he returned to the perimeter to begin his stalking again. He had not found what he was looking for after all.

ENDING 2:

The kiss Mitchell hungrily returned. When they broke apart another question was in his eyes, _what do you want_?

There was only one thing Anders could do, nod toward the exit.

When he woke the next morning, Anders wasn’t one hundred percent sure who or what he’d done but there were two pin pricks on the side of his neck and there was a matchbook from the club with a phone number inside it on his night table. He was one hundred percent sure he’d call it.


End file.
